


Have you been abandoned as well?

by metalkiralylany



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, I'm not sure how to tag this I'm sorry, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Young!Viktor, but the ending deviates a bit, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalkiralylany/pseuds/metalkiralylany
Summary: “I don’t want you to change. Just stay who you are!" Yuuri tells him.But who even is Viktor?Since he has little to no backstory in canon, I just had to create my own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my friend [Nemamka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemamka/pseuds/Nemamka) for proofreading and encouraging me to upload it. It really meant a lot.

_“Well, what’s agape to you then, Viktor?” Yurio demands to know._

_There’s a moment of silence. Viktor dodges the question._

***

The sound his blades make grazing the ice as he glides across the rink is calming, pushing his body forward with one foot then the other is the easiest thing there is, it’s something he doesn’t have to think about. And he doesn’t want to think about anything right now. He’s picking up speed quickly, feeling the cold air caressing his face and gently combing through his long, silvery hair. Yakov always scolds him for letting it loose during practice, he says it’s dangerous and unprofessional, and he’s probably right – but Yakov isn’t here right now, and even if he was, he wouldn’t say a thing for once, Viktor thinks. 

He’s completely on his own in the dimly lit venue at 3 in the morning. It’s not the first time he’s done this, since he had stolen a set of keys about two years ago, when he was in his most rebellious phase, and thought he could get away with just about anything. He wasn’t wrong about that. He got caught the first time he tried to enter the place, but the staff decided to ignore that mistake, and no one even asked for the keys back. Of course they didn’t. After all, he was Viktor Nikiforov, two times Junior World Champion and Russia’s number one figure skating prodigy. If he wanted to sneak in some extra practice or just go a few rounds for fun, no one was going to stop him. There were certain privileges that came with his titles, and while he always appeared to be the most polite, well-disciplined, friendly young man in public, he also always knew how to be a real pain in the ass without ever getting in too much trouble for it. There was always some talk among the skaters that he was responsible for most of Yakov Feltsman’s excessive hair loss.

He glides a few more circles. One foot, then the other, mechanically. It’s no good tonight. His head and heart are both empty, he’s absolutely uninspired, painfully so. He should be feeling something, but he isn’t.

Another ten minutes pass aimlessly. He hates it. He hates being aimless more than anything. He keeps going faster and faster as his anger rises. At least now he does feel something. Even if it’s not what he think he’s supposed to be feeling. He’s angry at himself because none of this is right, and he’s at a loss at what to do. As long as there are things to do, he’s fine, but he isn’t good with emotions.  
He spins around, messy locks of hair obscuring his vision – he can practically hear Yakov yelling at him for being reckless, but Viktor doesn’t care. As he goes into the jump with all this frustration suffocating him, he already knows he’s off balance. He falls.

He isn’t hurt. At least he doesn’t think so. Still, Viktor doesn’t move. He stays there, sprawled out on the ice, staring at the glass ceiling of the venue. This moment would be so much more dramatic if he could see some stars at least, but the building is in the middle of the city, so even if the sky was clear tonight, light pollution wouldn’t let him see a thing.

Maybe he should cry. That’s what people do when they’re mourning, right? 

He doesn’t.

After a while the cold touch of the ice against his back gets uncomfortable, so he stands up and leaves without looking back.

The next day rink mates come up to him to express their condolences. Viktor accepts their kind words with a polite smile.

_I’m okay. She was ill for a long time. We knew this day would come. We weren’t even that close._

None of those things are lies. They really weren’t that close. That doesn’t make it better.

***

_“What about ex-lovers?”_  
_“I’d rather not talk about it,” Yuuri stutters, looking startled._  
_“Let’s talk about me! My first-”_  
_“STOP!”_

***

Viktor Nikiforov is _hot_. That’s a fact. He had girls and boys falling for him left and right ever since he’s been old enough to date. He is charming, funny, albeit sometimes incredibly blunt, so he does have his fair share of affairs during his teenage years. 

His first _official_ girlfriend, Katja is a ballet dancer who sometimes holds classes for little kids at Viktor’s home rink. She keeps glancing in his direction with a playful smile, and Viktor tries his best to impress her. Which, among other things, earns him a _seriously impressive_ lecture from his coach, for attempting jumps he wasn’t ready for. Viktor shrugs it off because well, he pulled it off with ease, so what’s the big deal? He can barely hear Yakov shouting, all he can concentrate on is the girl trying to hide her laughter in front of a bunch of frowning kids loudly demanding her undivided attention.

They go out for coffee later. It’s so easy to fall for her, to be with her. She’s sweet, beautiful, and a real artist. She’s someone who understands what competing means, what kind of personal sacrifices it demands. That doesn’t mean they can make it work. After a while there are just too many occasions where their busy schedules prevent them from meeting for entire weeks. They agree to stay friends. She kisses Viktor on his cheek before she walks away. They never speak again.

After that, Viktor is just too busy. _Too focused_. He still takes people on dates, but he always finds some excuse to end things before they get serious. Being in love is a distraction he can’t afford, he decides.

***

_“Take a nap, Yuuri. It’s okay, I always slept in until the last minute before competitions, too.”_

***

There’s also that time in his life where he just doesn’t feel like being with anyone. He’s 18, just out of rehabilitation after the knee injury he suffered at practice. He has no time or energy to deal with other people, he needs to get back into shape before then next season starts.  
He’s never exactly _rude_ to anyone, but he declines so many invitations to parties and dinners that after a while he isn’t asked anymore.

His fellow competitors clap him on the back when he returns to the ice. They are nothing but friendly with each other. That’s the real beauty of figure skating, above some healthy rivalry and competitive spirit, there is no resentment. Viktor gets along with most of the skaters just fine, but he always keeps his distance. After a while, that distance materializes in a chain of gold medals and unbeaten world records.

***

_“I’m sorry. I forgot you never had a lover.”_

***

The first night he spends with a man isn’t all that special. They are both 20, and neither of them are looking for anything serious. The guy, Andrei knows next to nothing about figure skating, which is nice for a change, because Viktor is already on his way to the top once again, and being with someone who wants him because of his name is not something he ever wants to try. They see each other whenever they feel like it, no strings attached. After a while, he disappears. A few months later Viktor sees him in town, holding hands with another guy. Saying that it doesn’t sting a bit would be a lie, but he smiles anyway, because they look really happy. That’s a thing he wants in the future. Not at the moment, though. _Now is the time to take off, not to ground himself._

***

_“You’re younger than me. You also never had any major injuries…”_

***

His first season in the senior division is hell. Viktor doesn’t want to admit it, but during his junior years he got used to winning, being the best, the skater every kid looked up to… and here he isn’t any of those things anymore. He’s just another newcomer. His debut was quite good, the older skaters congratulated him, he got countless claps on the shoulder, some words of encouragement, someone even _ruffled his hair_ , which left him blushing from embarrassment. They still treat him like a kid. He did okay. But it wasn’t _special._ He needs to work harder.

He just keeps pushing himself. 

He spends so much time at the rink that people are starting to think that he actually lives there. He has arguments with Yakov about step sequence choreographies and upping jump difficulty on a daily basis, he practices every move until he’s ready to pass out. His coach yells at him.

And, for once, Viktor takes it. He lets Yakov tell him that he’s arrogant and irresponsible, that he’s the most infuriating student he ever had the goddamn bad luck to coach. What Yakov doesn’t know is that _he has no choice_. Since his mother’s passing, he’s on his own. Sure, he’s only 17 and still living with his father, but that man means nothing to him. He flat out told his own son that he would not continue to support him if he doesn’t stop with the “ice dancing nonsense”. Viktor’s almost a man now, he needs to find some _real_ career goals. Even if he was never really close with his mother, at least she let him do whatever he wanted. Alexander Nikiforov isn’t having any of that.

So Viktor does his best to prove him wrong. He starts to train even harder, there’s nothing but cold determination in his eyes whenever he enters the rink. And he’s quickly climbing through the ranks, people start to notice him once again. Soon he’s earning enough money from competitions that he doesn’t have to rely on his father anymore. 

 

“Vitya, slow down,” Yakov sighs. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

Viktor doesn’t listen. He never does. He prepares for the quad flip for what’s probably the 15th time today, he takes off, and for a moment, he gets dizzy. It’s only a split second, but it’s enough to throw his balance. When he lands, he can feel something crack, and he faintly hears his own screams, as he barrels right into the wall of the rink, headfirst. 

Next thing he knows, someone – Yakov? – is picking him up, and he’s saying something but Viktor is still can’t see straight from the crash and his ears are ringing strangely. The pain in his leg barely registers.

The doctor tells him that he’s lucky. He tells Viktor that besides one hell of a concussion he sprained his medial collateral ligament, but it didn’t actually tear. Two months off the ice, and he should recover without complications, as long as he takes things slow and tries to keep the weight off his knee for a while. It’s almost the end of the season anyway; he only has to miss a competition or two. 

_Two months off the ice._

Viktor can feel his panic rise as he stares at the wall in disbelief. _No. No. No no no no. This wasn’t how it’s supposed to go. He can’t just take a break, he can’t, it’s impossible._

_It’d prove his father right._

Yakov drives him home. Neither of them says anything when Viktor gets out of the car. He swallows once, and without looking back, he pushes the front door open after some struggling. Moving around with crutches isn’t something he’s used to but he has no choice. His father is right there in the living room, waiting for him. It occurs to Viktor that Yakov probably called him from the hospital. Viktor shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He thinks his father just said something but he isn’t sure. His hearing is still a bit fuzzy. Next thing he knows, the man is actually laughing. 

“Well done, son. Just… Well done!”

He doesn’t wait for the impending lecture that would surely follow, most likely ending somewhere along the lines of him having no income and no education, and being incompetent and childish, and most of all, a burden. He heard it all before. He limps to his room as fast as he can manage, and slams the door before breaking down in tears.

***

_“You don’t have to say anything, just stay close to me, Viktor!”_

***

Viktor is a skating genius. At least that’s what people say about him. He’s been at the top of the world for four years and counting, so there must be some truth to it, right? His technical skills are unparalleled. He doesn’t even remember the last time he messed up a jump. He has music written just for him – but it’s never over the top, not like that kid JJ. Viktor tells stories through his skating, and the audience loves it. His performances are jaw-dropping, breathtaking… and so incredibly _fake_.

The only person who ever tells him that to his face is Georgi. Poor weird, sometimes borderline creepy Georgi. But he is absolutely right. 

Everything Viktor does on the ice is an act. He’s gotten really good at it over the years, but still. When was the last time he felt something real? 

_“Stammi vicino”_ is bullshit. Well, half of it. The other half just sounds like a desperate cry for help. Viktor no longer cares. He skates the program beautifully, and it wins him gold once again. He stands on the ice with a grin frozen on his face. He kisses the cold round metal in his hand, and feels nothing at all.

***

He’s selfish, he’s arrogant. He thinks he can get away with everything.

_“If you walk away now, you can never come back!” Yakov’s voice is desperate. Victor feels a pang of guilt as he hugs the man who was more of a father to him than anyone else. The only person who cares enough to see him off when he decides to move to Japan, seemingly out of nowhere._

Maybe he’s being ungrateful. Maybe this is a mistake. But even Viktor Nikiforov is allowed to make mistakes from time to time. _He’s allowed to have fun_. Even with all his success, even with being the most decorated figure skater in history, sometimes he feels like he has nothing to lose. 

***

In Japan, Viktor is having the time of his life. 

He isn’t sure why this Yuuri is so different from the person he met at that banquet, and more like that guy who peaked Viktor’s interest when he declined the offer for a commemorative photo by simply walking away without a word, because he keeps refusing Viktor’s advances for some reason, but he does his best to figure him out. 

***

_“I don’t want you to change. Just stay who you are!”_

It’s simple, yet so baffling. 

***

_“Well, what’s agape to you then, Viktor?” Yurio demands to know._

_There’s a moment of silence. Viktor dodges the question._

He goes on and on about how he can’t put something like that into words, that skating is about emotions, not thoughts anyway, and if he wasn’t so used to acting like he knew every secret of the universe because he was Viktor fucking Nikiforov, actual perfection on blades, his face would be just as red as Yurio’s is, from the ever-building anger and humiliation. He can’t bring himself to look the kid in the eye. Yurio deserves a lecture for being cocky, sure, but not like this, and definitely not from a hypocrite.

***

_“Listen, I feel sick when I see you playing pretend-coach.”_

Yakov’s words sting, but Viktor feels he deserves them for leaving like he did. Now he just needs to prove just how wrong Yakov is about him. He used to be right, yes. But this isn’t about Viktor anymore, and the whole world needs to see that. They need to recognize what Viktor already sees in Yuuri. The strength. Determination. Art.

He wants this man to sweep the whole world of its feet like he did with Viktor on not one but two occasions. They won’t even see him coming, but they’ll be glad he did.

***

_Makkachin is dying._

Viktor is torn, he doesn’t want to leave, but his dog, his oldest friend deserves better. And of course Yuuri understands that, more than anyone. So he catches the first flight to Japan, and spends the entire trip in a daze.

_Makkachin is fine._

Viktor is a mess. He wishes he could go back now, but it’s already too late. He worries as he sits in front of the TV at the Katsuki’s with a cup of coffee in his shaking hands. He’s worried that he’s needed, and the selfish part of him is also worried that he _isn’t._

And Yuuri… Yuuri is so strong that it nearly makes Viktor cry.

They run towards each other at the airport, and collide with such force that it knocks the wind out both of them. _I wish you’d never retire_ , Viktor whispers. He hopes that Yuuri understands. He doesn’t see Yuuri’s tears.

***

_They exchange rings in Barcelona. It feels like a dream._

***

_“Viktor Nikiforov is dead!” Yurio yells at him._

_He’s right.  
But he’s ready to be reborn._

***

_“I don’t have a name for that emotion. I decided to call it love.”_

***

Viktor still doesn’t exactly know what agape means to him. He wouldn’t call his love for Yuuri selfless. Viktor loves Yuuri because Yuuri makes him happy and motivated, like no one ever had; and he clings to that feeling with everything he can. Every blush, every stuttered confession, that later turns into demands and claiming Viktor in front of the entire world just makes him even more certain, that this is _it_. This is what he’s been missing.

 

When Yuuri tells him that he wants to end things after the Grand Prix Final, he just sits there and does nothing to stop his tears. He says he’s crying because he’s mad, and it’s not exactly a lie. What he doesn’t say is that even if life hardened his once fragile heart into nothing but cold, hard diamond, this one man, who came out of nowhere and swept him off his feet without a warning, still manages to shatter it like glass, with just one well-placed blow. 

Still, he’s willing to fight this time. 

***

_Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with his breath hitching in his throat._  
_Sometimes he dreams about losing everything._  
_Sometimes he thinks that all of this is just a dream._

But then he feels another body pressed against his side, he hears the calm breathing and every now and then some mumbled nonsense (Yuuri talks a lot in his sleep, and it’s adorable), and his fingers find their way into thick black hair, caressing softly, until Yuuri shifts and all but faceplants into Viktor’s chest, knocking the wind out of him for a second, and throws an arm around his waist possessively. Viktor then hugs him close, plants a kiss onto the top of his head, and smiles into the darkness of the room. 

***

Viktor can’t take his eyes off Yuuri. Not for a second. The music starts, and the way he moves is so captivating, Viktor is shaken to his core once again. He doesn’t know what will happen after they leave the ice, they chose not to talk about the future until the event is over. This is Yuuri’s time to shine, and he’s _glowing_. The audience loves him. _Good_ , Viktor thinks. But still, this performance isn’t for them. They are merely allowed to witness something personal, something that’s more of a love confession than any words could ever express.

 

_Yuuri lands all of his jumps effortlessly._

_Viktor starts to glide across the ice._

_The crowd goes wild._

 

Viktor really has no idea if this is where their skating career ends, but at the moment, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he gets his message across. He locks eyes with Yuuri before reaching for his hand, and hopes, that for the first time in forever, his skating will be a true reflection of his emotions. 

Their fingers touch, and the moment is so intense, so intimate, that off the ice they’d both be blushing. They dance across the ice in perfect harmony, medals and competitions temporarily forgotten.

Viktor looks at Yuuri with such intent, almost desperately, baring his soul for the whole world to see as he thinks,

_Stay close to me, don’t go._

And the smile Yuuri gives him says,

_I’m not going anywhere._

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'd like to state two things: this was pretty much my first attempt at writing in English. It's not my first language.  
> And this is also the first thing I managed to write after 5 years of zero inspiration. I love YOI so much for that.


End file.
